


The Busy Little Sailor

by lilliecase



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Adventure, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friendship, Gen, I'm probably not gonna finish this one but please enjoy what I've got here, Magic, Mermaids, Ocean, Sailing, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliecase/pseuds/lilliecase
Summary: An unnamed charismatic sailor is unlucky in his romantic pursuits. More than anything, he yearns to be loved and in love. Willing to do anything for his dream, the sailor tracks down the infamous mermaid, who is rumored to grant a wish to the one who can capture her.But the situation unfolds a bit differently than he had expected.The mermaid that he holds captive is a thirteen-year-old girl, and they form an unusual friendship. A strange sense of foreboding and magic hovers over the port town like a thick fog.What is he to do? Manipulate the young mermaid in order to use her wish—or reevaluate his greatest desire in life?





	The Busy Little Sailor

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, this is something that I started a frickin' long time ago, when I was like 16. I figured that I'd post some of it to see people's reaction. I'll probably never finish it! Oops! So just enjoy it for whatever it's worth!
> 
> Comments/critiques, kudos, and shares all appreciated, as always :-)

* * *

 

 

In a busy little town, home to a busy little harbor, there lived a busy little sailor.

Every day, he would go through his usual routine without fail—the clockwork of his life, fashioned by the finest craftsmen. The sailor would wake up before the sun rose in his lonely home, buy himself some breakfast, and stroll lazily down the street on his way to the harbor. Hardly anyone was awake; the sailor himself was fighting away the sleep longing to delve its claws into his flesh and drag him in. When he did find someone up and preparing for the day, he always made sure to offer up a friendly greeting: “Hello!”, “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”, “Great weather for sailing today.” And to that poor, homeless, old woman who slept on the dock, he always offered himself as a friend and confidant, giving her a portion of his bread and listening as she told old stories of faraway places.

The sailor was quite popular around the ocean town. He was well known by the locals (attributed to his friendliness and willingness to help others) and was a rather handsome young man. He’d features quite unlike any other sailor—coolly burning emerald eyes, a charming grin, and an angular face with sharp features that could slice through silver and gold. And, of course, he had the scraggly, wind-blown, dirtied hair that came with the job, as well as the customary scars and scratches. The sailor was battered, but charmingly so, for he always created an outlandish reason for his wounds. For instance, a young child once asked how he received the scar under his left eye, from his cheek to his lip. He smiled that wry grin of his and told a tale of grandeur and adventure, of how he bravely and single-handedly faced a band of pirates, when in actuality, the scar was the result of not having his sea-legs the first time he went aboard a ship.   

Unfortunately for the sailor, however, he hadn’t much luck in the endeavor of romance. He was a hardened seadog at heart, not the average perfect, egocentric aristocrat that every woman craved. Nearly every week he had a new woman on his arm. The town gossip was often about who the sailor was with this week.

“Have you seen him today? That girl is trouble.”

“So was last week’s dame, but nothing stopped him then!”

“One of these days, he’s going to have to settle down.”

And every time the sailor faced the utter destruction of a break-up, he’d crumble to pieces. He’d claim that he’d never love again, throwing common sense to the wind and drinking himself senseless. It was comical to see and highly predictable after about a month or two. People tried to change his ways, coming to him kindly and telling him that things would look up, he’d see, some day he’d find just the right girl and he could settle down.

He knew they were lying. Poor lonely sailors are never part of the storybook happy ending, and regardless, he wanted no part of it. Although his life was frenzied, he thought of himself as happy enough. He had a place to rest his head every evening, food on his table, and a fine career in which he had a great deal of potential. The sailor, if he had been asked, would have sworn up and down that this was going to be the highest time of his life.

He couldn’t have been any more wrong.

 

His real happiness was found shortly after his latest catch stood him up.

The evening was luminous and gusty, as were all nights on the shore. The sky was like a blanket, stars poking through the fabric in pinpoints and the moon a carefully sewn patch. The waves rolled against the land to the rhythm of his heartbeat, and he struck a match against the bottom of his boot.

Its light was brought about in an instantaneous moment of smoldering and sputtering. The sailor rummaged around in the pockets of his overcoat for a moment or two before procuring a pipe. He held the match to its end, breathing in the toxic air and watching the smoke dance in velvet circles before his lips.

The sailor’s eyelids fell shut. In that moment, he tried his hardest to do no more than just exist. It really was a difficult task. He found himself tapping his fingers against the side of his leg, listening to the conversation between the ocean and the earth, and longing to do more than be. He wanted to live.

He heaved a sigh and took a long, solid drag from the pipe. Never before had he needed its haze so badly, never before had he yearned so deeply to become lost in its fog. The sailor rubbed his face, tugged at his hair, sucked at his pipe. He needed to forget. There was only one place for that.

The sailor stood up, inhaled the smoke that had become his addiction, and made his slow, steady way to the bar on the far side of town.

 

“Ah, glad to see that you could make it, lad! Take a seat, there’s plenty of beer to go around!”

The chill of the wind-swept evening remained unfelt by all inside the pub; the majority of the men were too drunk to notice its presence anyhow. It was scarcely brighter inside than it was out—here, light was provided by the glow of hanging lanterns and pipettes, proving themselves more efficient than the stars and the moon. Smoke curled in lacey patterns overhead, a fog thicker than the finest velvet. He fought against the smog layering the tavern, heaving breath after breath and sucking at his own pipe.   

How strange, the sailor thought to himself. How strange that smoke is so overwhelming when combined, yet the quintessence of bliss when on its own. How strange it all is, really.

“What’ll it be tonight, lad?” The bartender, a short, stout fellow who was always laughing and always prepared to pinch a penny or two, beamed with pride. Evenings like these always provided a large turnout. More people, more money, happier owner.

“Just a scotch, please.” He took a seat at the bar, wedged between a man in a large overcoat and a snoring figure, out cold. The sailor stared straight ahead, cold, undeterred. Situations like these frightened him—instances in which he had no control over anything around him. All he could do was have faith, and faith was one thing that the sailor did not have. That, and a girlfriend.

The bartender placed the drink before his fingertips, scanning the sailor’s expression. He downed it in a single go. “Is somethin’ the matter, now? If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times: drinking never—“

“Solved anything,” the sailor finished. “I know. I know. I’m alright.” At the bartender’s skeptical look, he repeated, with more conviction, “ _I’m alright._ ”

“If you say so, lad. I’ll keep my big nose out of it. So long as you can promise me one thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And that would be?”

“Don’t let yourself get too bummed out about it, eh?”

The sailor’s motivation plummeted even lower than he thought possible. “You heard?”

“Certainly. Why, you’re only the talk of the town.”

“It must have only happened about an hour ago.”

“Talk spreads quickly in this here town,” the bartender slurred, giving the sailor a wink and refilling his glass. “You should know that better’n any of us.”

It was true. The sailor knew how often he was the subject of town gossip; he just chose never to acknowledge it. He figured that the quicker he shrugged it off, the quicker it would dissipate like the morning fog. To the bartender, he only raised his glass in a toast and guzzled the liquid down. The hollow numbness of alcohol began to quiet the world, so much so that he had to tighten his grip on the glass in his hand to stay planted in reality. The sailor’s eyelids fluttered shut, the sounds of the bar melted into a dull buzz.

And in that moment, for a second, everything seemed to pause.

The smoke drifting overhead froze, an animal at bay; the chatter filling the air merely ended; the sailor, dazed, glanced about. The world had succumbed to the permafrost of time. The only other who, like he, had a blazing soul, was the man with the large overcoat sitting at the bar.

He blinked. The world was alive once more.

The sailor stared at the empty liquor glass in his fingertips, his face pallid and pale. He pushed it away.

The man with the overcoat, out of the corner of the sailor’s eye, fought back a smirk. The sailor’s suspicions rose.

“Did…” He hesitated. He was going to sound crazy, asking this man if he’d felt the world die and revive all in the past second or so. “Did you happen to feel that? Just then?”

The man in the coat shook his head. His face was the epitome of indifference, of stolidity. “You must be drunk off your arse. I didn’t feel a thing.”

The sailor didn’t believe him—this coated man—for a moment. He’d smirked, and he was alone. Laughing at his own thoughts, perhaps. But either way, this man knew something that the sailor suddenly craved to know.

“So,” the sailor huffed, turning his body so that he could stare this man dead in the eye. The man met his gaze evenly, a friendly competition between two strangers.

“Do you have something to ask me?” The man had a certain twinkle in his eyes. It made the sailor uncomfortable. His resolve quickly vanished.

“I—No, I was only—“

“Ah, no need to be so worrisome, mate!” The man with the coat patted his shoulder, calling the bartender over. “Two more whiskeys, please.”

“Oh, no, please, I’ve already had far too much to—“

“Nonsense! A sailor can never have too much liquor in his system—I’m sure that you know this quite well, eh?”

The sailor, now as suspicious as ever, interjected. “Hold on just a moment. I don’t recall ever meeting you before this evening, and quite frankly, I’m not too convinced that you’re a local.”

“Who ever said that I was part of the locale? Who ever said that we’ve met before?”

“Then how did you know that I was a sailor?”

“Ah, but that’s the thing,” the coated man slurred. “I didn’t. You just told me.”

It took the sailor a minute or two to process this, and as an expression of sour surprise morphed his features, the man continued to speak. “You can figure out a lot about someone by just assumin’. I took a shot in the dark when I guessed that you were a sailor. You were out alone, drinkin’, so I made an acertation. You told me all the rest from there.” He sipped at his whiskey, smiling at the sailor’s bitter expression. “For instance, I hadn’t a clue that you were a resident of this cute little place ‘til you told me. On that note—what’s a man like you doing in a place like this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s too quiet for you.”

“It’s lively enough,” the sailor scoffed, making a visible effort to keep everything a secret.

“Now, mate, that acid attitude won’t get you anywhere. I know that this town ain’t your cup of tea. It’s too—small. Localized. Am I right?”

He hesitated a moment, keeping his gaze focused upon his untouched drink, before mumbling, “You’re right so far. Go on.”

The man with the coat let out a boisterous laugh. “See? It really is quite simple to figure others out—not to say that you’re an open book, not in the slightest, but people are just so easily maneuvered. All it took for me to guess that was your little conversation with the bartender.”

“You’re frightening me.”

“Take a sip of your drink. I’ll tell you more. Not like you’ve got anyone better to talk to.”

It was the undeniable truth of the matter; they were the only two men at the bar who weren’t smashed, and so they conversed for quite a while. The coated man, it so happened, was also a sailor, and had traveled the world three times over. He had strange philosophies, but the sailor found them intriguing and unusual and appealing. They shared stories and memories and problems like the nostalgic seadogs they were and drank to the countless pretty girls who had gotten to their heads and in their beds. The night began to thicken, and the late night bar crowd thinned into the unconscious and the alcoholics. The sailor and his new companion happened to fall in the latter category. They kept up with each other drink for drink, and by the end of their conversation, the sailor couldn’t quite see straight. He spoke to the man with the coat, of which there were two or three or four. “Looks like it’s gettin’ late, mate. I’d best be back to my home. I wouldn’t want to keep the Missus waitin’.”

“Come now, we both know that there ain’t no Missus in your life other than your mother.”

He sighed in defeat. “Not yet. But someday—someday, I’ll have me the most beautiful woman in all of England—in all of the world.”

A thought seemed to occur to the coated man, and he grabbed the sailor’s shoulder, shaking him temporarily out of his drunken stupor. The man with the large coat bore a sobered face, and he said, “Mate, I think I’ve just remembered a way to help you with your little lady problem.”

“Eh, yeah?” he slurred, narrowing his eyes at the blurry face before him. “And what might that be?”

“Well, it’s—It’s a bit obscure.”

“Obscure?”

“Yeah. No. I mean, you may not believe me, but I swear on my life that it’s true.”

The sailor continued to squint, but he didn’t protest. “Just tell me what it is, for Christ’s sake.”

“Alright, alright, it’s… Well, there’s…”

“Out with it!”

“Give me a quick second!” the man with the coat growled. “I have to put it in a way so that you won’t think I’m _completely_ insane.” He stared at the countertop, thinking of how he could put his thoughts into words as only humans knew best. After a moment, he spoke, his voice now hushed. “Alright, mate, this is goin’ to sound crazy… But while my crew and me were sailin’ over to this pretty little town of yours, the waters got pretty choppy. It must’ve been about five leagues or so directly afore the harbor. We thought it was just the beginnin’ of a storm that would happen soon, so nobody thought too much of it. We had nearly reached the dock, just a fair league away, when…”

“When what? Come on, then!”

“ _We saw her._ ”

“Pardon?”

“ _W_ _e saw the mermaid._ ”

For a moment, he simply blinked and stared at the man. The sailor may have been drunk, but that didn’t mean he was stupid. He had been sailing for as long as he could remember and had lived by the sea for even longer. If mermaids really did exist, he assumed it to be reasonable that he would have seen one by now. The man with the large overcoat picked up on this uncertainty. “Look, mate, I know. I told you, it’s strange. Don’t believe me if you don’t want to, but you’re in need of a lass, right?”

The sailor couldn’t resist the offer; he took the bait. “Hold on. Let’s just assume for a moment that—that you actually _did_ see a—“

“Mermaid.”

“Mermaid, right. How would a mermaid help me with any of my problems? The only use I could see for one of them is seafood.”

The coated man chuckled, as if he’d made a joke to himself, and watched the sailor with a peculiar look in his eyes. “So you believe me, eh? That didn’t take much convincin’.”

“Well, at this point, I’ve got no better options. Please, just—tell me.”

He squinted at the sailor, evaluating his situation and expression and intentions and emotions, and sighed in pity. The man with the large coat shook his head. “You must know the old wives’ tale about mermaids’n their magic. You must’ve heard it somewhere afore.”

“Eh, well, you see, I don’t exactly have a wife to hear that tale of hers, so—“

“It’s a figure o’ speech. Anyway, rumor has it that mermaids can use that magic touch o’ theirs—sprinkle some magic dust, mumble a spell, whatever it is that merfolk do—and make any man irresistible to the gender o’ their likin’. But, er, since you’ve only been talkin’ about how you’re in serious need of a lady friend, I’m gonna take a shot in the dark here and say they you don’t play for the other team.”

“Once again, your inference skills are astonishing.”

“Hey, I’m not rulin’ out any possibilities here. One of my closest mates was always a big hit with the ladies, and he never told me that they weren’t his cup of tea until—“

“Please, spare me the details. I just want to know about this mermaid magic thing that you mentioned.”

“Ah, right. That. Well, you see—I’m not too certain if mermaids can actually do that. It’s just a rumor, like I said. Hell, it’s a rumor that mermaids even exist! But after seeing one with my own two eyes, I would very well say that it’s worth a chance.”

The sailor frowned. “What’s worth a chance?”

“Are you really that drunk? Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Spit it out.”

“You. Take a sloop, something small. Find a mermaid. Have her use her mermaid powers on you and make yourself irresistible. Go find the lady of your dreams. Happily ever after.”

It took a moment for the plan to work its way through the sailor’s drunken thoughts. It might work. Theoretically, he could have the prettiest girl in town on his arm and thinking he was the finest man in the entire world. This all depended on the man in the coat’s reliability. So far, he hadn’t been wrong yet. And what harm was there in trying? He paused, and then a moment after, nodded furiously. “Yes, yes, I get it now. I quite like that plan. But—“

“Come on, I know mermaids are real! I saw one and so did the others, and—“

“That’s not what I was gonna ask.”

He stiffened. “Then what have you to question? I’ve laid the whole plan out for you. All you need to do is accept it.”

“I was gonna ask—what’s in it for you? Why help me?”

The man in the coat simply shrugged. “I’m a good person.”

“I highly doubt it. Tell me what you get out of this.”

“I’m somewhat offended by that. But I’ll forgive you, because I’m a good person and because we’re drunk. I don’t get anything out of this, I swear—just a bit o’ credibility. You say that you saw a mermaid, me’n my crew don’t look like the only idiots who saw her. You have proof, our names are cleared. It’s a win for everyone.”

“I see.”

“I’m not cheating you in any way, mate. Like I said—I’m a good person. I just want to clear my name. The people around here think I’m a bit—“

“Insane? Mad? Idiotic?”

“ _Delusional_. And I don’t blame them. I would’ve called anyone who claimed to have seen a mermaid delusional, too.”

“Are you trying to make me not believe you?”

“Oh, even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to do that. You have no choice but to believe me, otherwise, you’ll spend your life alone.”

The sailor stared at the strange man once more, getting what could have easily been his final look of the man. His eyes bore the utmost certainty in himself and in his plan. The sailor did what any logical man in his situation would do. He lifted his glass up in a toast. “To friendship,” he mumbled. “To mermaids. To my future wife.”

The coated man’s lips spread into a ghostly grin. He raised his glass in reply. “Now, that’s somethin’ I could drink to. To mermaids!”

They drank. The silence seemed to spread on forever and ever, save their drunken laughter. Eventually, the sailor, intoxicated with alcohol and the promise of beautiful women that would actually love him, stumbled back through the still night to the little shack he had called his home for so long.

 

The sun rose early the next morning—a golden coin shimmering brightly, the sky a sheet of the finest, lightest, bluest silk, and not a cloud for miles and miles to come. By the time the rest of the town had woken up, the sailor was already on the docks, fighting bravely through his hangover and wearing a pleasant grin. The townspeople expected as much from the sailor; he was always bright and peppy, despite his troubles. However, today had brought a new sort of excitement and vigor to the sailor, for today was the day he was going to find a mermaid.

He had managed to charm a few wealthy businessmen one night long ago at some bar, and with these connections under his belt, the sailor had obtained a small sloop manned by himself and no other. It was with his crew of one that he decided to take the journey—for who could determine how hired help would act in the face of danger and magic?

The waves lapped gently on the shore, and the ocean was as still as sleep. The sailor took his ship and set off with high hopes and bright spirits, as he knew very well what this little expedition of his would entail.  

Or, he thought that he had known.

 

Twelve hours wasted at sea. Twelve hours of the sailor scanning the surface of the ocean, looking, praying for anything out of the ordinary. In total, he’d seen ten dolphins, two sharks, thousands of fish, and no mermaids. Disheartened, he’d no option but to sail back home. The silver-dollar sun was beginning to set; the sky erupted into a display of brilliant colors, but this did nothing to better his mood.

The sailor returned to the sleepy little town, hungry and tired and discouraged. He laughed bitterly to himself as he lumbered down the dock, the planks creaking beneath his every footstep. “I suppose this is what I deserve,” he muttered, “for trusting a dirty drunkard I’d met by chance.”

His words, however much he wanted to believe them, were hollow. The sailor wanted nothing more than someone to love, and he hadn’t many options. Believing in something as outlandish as mermaids and strange men in large overcoats was the only chance he had left. Yes, the sailor had work to do, a life to live, but what was he to do? Was he to take the chance and look for a miracle, or was he to play it safe, as he always had?

The dusk plagued and slowly killed the colorful sunset. Weariness had settled into the sailor’s bones, but he had made the decision. The answer was obvious to him. He couldn’t think of having it any other way. He trudged home, sobered and tired and dispirited, but with a good night’s rest, he would be made anew. He would be ready to search the seas for as long as needed to find that mermaid.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
